Free Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon Page A

the bus station to the penitentiary, situated on seventy acres of land near the river. Jennifer rang the bell at the side entrance and a guard opened the door, checked off her name against his list, and directed her to the assistant warden’s office.
    The assistant warden was a large, square man with an old-fashioned military haircut and an acne-pitted face. His name was Howard Patterson.
    “I would appreciate anything you can tell me about Abraham Wilson,” Jennifer began.
    “If you’re looking for comfort, you’re not going to get it here.” Patterson glanced at the dossier on the desk in front of him. “Wilson’s been in and out of prisons all his life. He was caught stealing cars when he was eleven, arrested on a mugging charge when he was thirteen, picked up for rape when he was fifteen, became a pimp at eighteen, served a sentence for putting one of his girls in the hospital…”He leafed through the dossier. “You name it—stabbings, armed robbery and finally the big time—murder.”
    It was a depressing recital.
    Jennifer asked, “Is there any chance that Abraham Wilson didn’t kill Raymond Thorpe?”
    “Forget it. Wilson’s the first to admit it, but it wouldn’t make any difference even if he denied it. We’ve got a hundred and twenty witnesses.”
    “May I see Mr. Wilson?”
    Howard Patterson rose to his feet. “Sure, but you’re wasting your time.”
    Abraham Wilson was the ugliest human being Jennifer Parker had ever seen. He was coal-black, with a nose that had been broken in several places, missing front teeth and tiny, shifty eyes set in a knife-scarred face. He was about six feet four inches and powerfully built. He had huge flat feet which made him lumber. If Jennifer had searched for one word to describe Abraham Wilson, it would have been menacing. She could imagine the effect this man would have on a jury.
    Abraham Wilson and Jennifer were seated in a high-security visiting room, a thick wire mesh between them, a guard standing at the door. Wilson had just been taken out of solitary confinement and his beady eyes kept blinking against the light. If Jennifer had come to this meeting feeling she would probably not want to handle this case, after seeing Abraham Wilson she was positive. Merely sitting opposite him she could feel the hatred spewing out of the man.
    Jennifer opened the conversation by saying, “My name is Jennifer Parker. I’m an attorney. Father Ryan asked me to see you.”
    Abraham Wilson spat through the screen, spraying Jennifer with saliva. “That mothafuckin’ do-gooder.”
    It’s a wonderful beginning , Jennifer thought. She carefullyrefrained from wiping the saliva from her face. “Is there anything you need here, Mr. Wilson?”
    He gave her a toothless smile. “A piece of ass, baby. You innersted?”
    She ignored that. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
    “Hey, you lookin’ for my life story, you gotta pay me for it. I gonna sell it for da movin’ pitchurs. Maybe I’ll star in it mysef.”
    The anger coming out of him was frightening. All Jennifer wanted was to get out of there. The assistant warden had been right. She was wasting her time.
    “I’m afraid there’s really nothing I can do to help you unless you help me, Mr. Wilson. I promised Father Ryan I would at least come and talk to you.”
    Abraham Wilson gave her a toothless grin again. “That’s mighty white of ya, sweetheart. Ya sure ya don’t wanna change your mind ‘bout that piece of ass?”
    Jennifer rose to her feet. She had had enough. “Do you hate everybody?”
    “Tell ya what, doll, you crawl inta my skin and I’ll crawl inta yours, and then you’n me’ll rap ’bout hate.”
    Jennifer stood there, looking into that ugly black face, digesting what he had said, and then she slowly sat down. “Do you want to tell me your side of the story, Abraham?”
    He stared into her eyes, saying nothing. Jennifer waited, watching him, wondering what it must be like to wear that